Graveside Confessions
by Sherlockian082994
Summary: A very Angsty one-shot on an OC's (name is optional, but I have a soft spot for "clara") feelings to living with Sherlock and John While at the same time dealing with the loss of her mum. Second person PoV, Rated T for swearing. My first fic so reviews are greatly appreciated! Sorry if Sherlock is a bit OOC in this, I wanted to make him seem unusual with "feelings".


GRAVESIDE CONFESSIONS

I look around, eager to make sure nobody i know sees me while i exit the cab parked in front of the graveyard. I pull out a 50 and hand it to the driver, watching him pull and drive away. Clutching the bouquet of flowers closer to me, I tentatively walk along the path until i see the headstone i'm looking for.

_Karen J. Masterson_

_A loving wife, a devoted mother._

_1/1/'62-1/1/'10_

I kneel at the grave, feeling the tears already start to flow. Taking a deep breath, I reach my hand out and feel the smooth, marble, surface under my fingertips.

"Hi, mum. It's been, 2 years now since you passed, a lot of things have changed in that time. Um... I found myself a new flatmate! Two new flatmates actually, all the way in London, can you believe it? Sherlock Holmes and John Watson." Pausing, I hear a rustle coming from the bushes and whip my head around to see if anyone heard me. After a minute or so I turn my head back around and continue on with my one-sided conversation.

"They're nice. Sherlock and John I mean. Well, John's nice. Kind, sweet, always making tea for us. But also extremely loyal. He was a medical officer in Afghanistan, the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, if I remember correctly. To be honest, he's like the father I never had. "

Pausing again to wipe some stray tears I look up to see dark clouds looming overhead. Clearly a sign of a bad storm. I instinctively pull my hood up and look back down again, continuing with my story.

"Sherlock is... well, he's different. I mean, he... ugh. I don't know how to describe him! I guess... he's the first person who hasn't considered me a freak just for being observant before, so theres that. He's a consulting detective, did you know that mum? He helps the police when they don't know what to do, which is most of the time i must admit. They aren't all that bright. But anyways... I don't really know what to tell you about his personality. He can be unbelievably cruel, but I never hold him against it." To be honest his cruelty comes in the form of blunt honesty, something I admire him greatly for.

The rain starts coming down now, and already I can feel the cold setting in, chilling me down to the core. I know that if I don't hurry I'm probably going to get hypothermia just from sitting out here, but I don't care. I have to keep going.

"But, Sherlock can also be kind. He's defended me against the onslaught of the name calling by some of the police force members, and I've done the same for him." I think back to the time he overheard Anderson calling me a 'freak' and how Sherlock punched him so hard he spit up teeth. Then directly after I chewed Sally Donovan out for calling him a freak.

"He claims he doesn't have a heart, but I think he's just buried it under years and years of pain and misery, simply from being alone and being bullied. And I...I...FUCK! I just - I can't do this!"

I shakily place the bouquet on the grave and start hugging myself, downpour increasing steadily and easily making me look like a drenched kitten.

"I don't know anymore, mum! For the first time, I feel like I belong somewhere, and Sherlock is the one who made me feel this way. He makes me feel so many things! Things I can't speak outside my own mind for fear of the reprecussions or what he might think. And now, now when I need your advice the most, you can't even help me." The last part comes as a whisper, and the tears start flowing even more now, easily hidden by the torrential downpour.

"I miss you. So. Damn. Much."

I felt a hand on my shoulder just then, and look up to see Sherlock staring at me, dressed impeccibly in that damned belstaff coat and scarf with an umbrella perched over us.

He doesn't say anything, but I can tell just by looking in his bright, blue eyes, that he's heard every word of my solitary conversation. I look over and see a cab sitting idly in the background. I slowly stand up, not aware of how cold I really am until the shaking starts. It hurts like crazy, like icy daggers shooting into me with every step I take. Sherlock still says nothing, but instead places his coat on my shaking shoulders. The warmth hits me like a ton of bricks, and I am instantly grateful for it.

"Thank you."

All that comes as a response is a nod of his head and with that we walk back to the cab.

"221B Baker street please." Are all the words that come out of Sherlocks mouth, but his eyes told a different story:

_Come on, Lets go home._

I smile and look out the window. Yeah mum. This is definitely where I belong...

**FIN.**


End file.
